


M is for Madness

by MariaPriest



Series: Stargate Drabbles' Alphabet Challenge [14]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 16:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaPriest/pseuds/MariaPriest
Summary: Only one survivor returns to Stargate Command after a disastrous mission.





	M is for Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Occurs soon after "Into the Fire"

The Goa'uld came through the Chappa'ai to capture the frighteningly huge, aggressive bird with the intent of training it to do his bidding - namely, to attack his enemies and intimidate his Jaffa and slaves.

The sentient creature set upon the intruders, killing all but one in a short stretch of time. It had grievously injured the lone survivor and was coming in for the kill when something unexpected happened.

A giant worm, the likes of which it had never seen, erupted from the survivor's mouth, flew toward it headlong. Before it could react, the worm burrowed into the throat of the native creature.

The creature crowed with pain and plummeted toward the ground. Just before it would have hit the sun- and drought-hardened surface, it realized it was not alone in its body and the unwelcome worm now had control.

The worm maneuvered the body he now commanded upwards, its coarse feathers scraping the ground before it climbed back into the sky. However, the flight lacked the usual grace and beauty.

Thus began the battle of two powerful, willful minds for dominance over a predatory body.

MMMM

_Centuries later..._

The spinning of the Chappa'ai gave it - _NO! I am **He** who delights in blood, a god who instills fear - him_ hope. It had been so long since it had opened. Maybe an acceptable host would come through and he could exit flying, filthy creature whose murderous ways had imprisoned him on this miserable planet.

Disappointment smothered hope in the creature's seething brain as some unfamiliar machine - dark gray-green, squat, with wide chains wrapped around its set of wheels - rumbled onto the platform in front of the Chappa'ai. Staying concealed in the leafy branches of the tree that was his base because it was closest to the Alteran device, he watched intently as the machine stopped before it reached the steps.

The machine's upper portion rotated as if its singular false eye was searching for something to see. It made sounds, all of them familiar to the creature despite not being heard for too many years to number. Short minutes later, the Chappa'ai abruptly closed and the machine went silent.

Alone again. The creature cawed, a plaintive, hopeless wail that would have brought sorrow to anyone hearing it but no one did.

The creature sank further into despair and madness.

MMMM

An unknown amount of time later - the creature had lost all sense of it except when hunger spurred him to action to hunt for prey to torture, kill, and eventually consume - the Chappa'ai exploded into life again.

A group of four people appearing to be human and wearing unknown uniforms walked cautiously across the stone platform to the steps leading down to the controller. From his perch in the tree, he saw no forehead brand on any of them. So they were slaves…

_They cannot be slaves! Slaves do not wear such attire!_

The creature quickly decided it didn't matter. Whoever they were, one of them would be his way out of this hideous existence and carry him back to his abandoned worlds to rejoin his fellow Goa'uld in ruling the choice parts of the galaxy. Eventually he would implement his plan to eliminate the other Goa'uld, one by one, payback for not rescuing him, until the entire galaxy was all his. 

He didn't sense a symbiote, at least not from this distance, and that was all he needed to know. Anticipation of a new host caused his serpent-like body to sprout new fins. Any of them were ripe for the taking. He watched them closely until he identified the one who was most likely the leader.

He was tall, with dark skin like most Jaffa, but not as large. Nevertheless, still a physically intimidating specimen, and adequately handsome. The human would suit him well.

He listened to them talk. It was a language he didn't recognize, which told him they were probably from a world not ruled by a Goa'uld. It would be the first new world to adulate him.

They scouted the immediate area around the Chappa'ai, with what the creature assumed were primitive weapons at the ready. Then the presumed leader pointed to the Chappa'kai and the one that looked like a female activated it. The creature paid close attention to the symbols.

If the host could have gasped, it would have, because the Goa'uld knew those symbols.

First World, as Ra called it, because that was the final step to his ascension as First Goa'uld, first among the System Lords. Ra had declared there was nothing of value there and had left the world of the Tau'ri, even though Ra took countless weak humans as slaves of all sorts, some of whom were selected to become Jaffa. Only a percentage survived the implantation of larvae spawned by his Queen.

The abandonment of the Tau'ri world never made sense to the creature. He himself had gone to the First World after Ra deserted it. Except for the Chappa'ais, there was no detectable naqadah. But there were plenty of humans, which had value as slaves and Jaffa. The planet likely had other desirable and necessary things for the Goa'uld to exploit.

Now he would discover what he'd long suspected. After conquering the home of the Tau'ri he would slowly torture and kill Ra, making the Sun God his first victim, and rule the System Lords. He would not be denied his destiny.

The machine breached the Chappa'ai window. Fear that the people would follow the machine and not come back jolted the creature into action. Waddling swiftly to a nearby nest, the creature extracted the _kara kesh_ and dropped it at the base of the tree.

The creature paused when the device rattled noisily upon hitting the ground. When none of the humans seemed to have noticed, he knew he was one step closer to leaving. 

Flying to the Tau'ri was not an option as the host body's wings made too much noise, which would frighten the weak humans into the open Chappa'ai that much sooner. Instead, the Goa'uld, whose enormous strength made the host body's powerful legs exponentially more so, sprang from the hiding place.

The Goa'uld, talons as sharp as finely honed diamonds and fully extended, headed for the human closest to him. The claws sank easily into the Tau'ri's upper body. The next moment the puny human was screaming and airborne.

The Chappa'ai closed. Victory, the Goa'uld realized, was now his.

The other three swung their weapons toward the shrieking agony of their comrade and the loud whoosh of massive air displacement from the flapping of mighty, huge wings.

As he had hoped, the wanting humans hesitated to fire on them. He reveled in the fear on their faces. He laughed frenziedly, which came out as a hoarse, quavering roar. Aiming carefully, he flung the Tau'ri in his grip into the nearest body.

That human hit the ground hard and bashed its head open on the edge of the stone step. The first one, blood spurting from two of its wounds, rolled on the platform until the Chappa'ai stopped it.

The creature banked to go after the female cowering beside the Chappai'kai. He halted in mid-flight, crying out as numerous things coming too fast for him to see, ripped through the host's wings and body.

It was time to leave the host he loathed almost as much as the Goa'uld who never came for him. He released the hellish death toxin, not to save the host a slow death from its wounds but to make it suffer that much more.

The Goa'uld shot out of the host's throat. Without hesitation, he aimed for the tall, dark human. He wavered in flight as his immature fins fought to keep him aloft and true to his course.

The female yelled something unintelligible. The remaining humans now focused their odd weapons on him. Somehow, he evaded injury, likely because he was a hard target due to his erratic movements.

Moments later, he landed on the shoulder of the male who would gratefully serve as his new host. Both Tau'ri screamed, fear rampant in the vibrations of the sound he couldn't hear.

The male suddenly had a knife in his hand. The Goa'uld recognized this type of weapon and wasted no time slithering to the male's neck before the blade could plunge into him. Instead, the hapless Tau'ri buried the steel in itself. It crashed to its knees.

The Goa'uld wasted no time burrowing into the male human. He exerted his significant power to subdue the human but it resisted - admirably, he thought, but futilely. He flooded his new body with excruciating pain. Distracted, its resistance fell to such a low level that the Goa'uld easily dominated it. The Tau'ri slumped until it was prostrate in the grass.

The female suddenly was kneeling beside him, shaking his new body and speaking tearfully in the foreign language he now understood. He sneered contemptuously while he crushed its windpipe. When it breathed no more, he tossed the body aside.

He turned his attention back to his new body. Even wounded, this was a superior specimen. He had chosen well.

He drew the blade from his host body. It was losing blood rapidly, so he healed the wound enough that there would no chance of dying but not enough to heal the wound fully, just in case he had to explain the rip in the shirt and the blood. He would use caution to infiltrate and conquer the First World, which he now knew was referred to as Earth.

The more he learned from the pathetic human who still tried to fight him, the more enraged he became and the more he bombarded his new body with pain only to be felt by the Tau'ri. The people of that world had become dangerous. And had left their home world, surely seeking to conquer.

He howled in utter, violent anger. He stood and shook his fists at the blue-gray sky. Kicked the dead body of the female. Pounded the edge of the Chappai'kai with his fists.

His fury finally came down to a controllable level. He leaned against the Chappa'kai to catch his breath and allow his bloodied, broken hands to heal. He decided he would destroy the First World after he took what he wanted. The Tau'ri could not be allowed to take his galaxy.

But first, he would take his revenge on the persons who had thwarted his revenge against Ra and punish the _shol'va_ to the death as well. And once he claimed his new queen, a woman his feckless host admired from a distance, First World would become a mass of rubble in space.

His new body now healed enough for reasonable activity, he ran, simply because he now could, to the base of the tree, where he retrieved his _kara kesh_. Grinning maniacally, he slipped the device on his right hand and savored the feel of its gold and power he had been deprived of for so long.

He ran back, only slowing to send a jolting pulse into the dead creature that had been his host. It sank a few inches into the ground, losing many of its feathers in the process.

He slipped off the device and made some adjustments. He slid it back on his left hand. After dialing the seven symbols to the First World and punching in the code in the wristlet strapped to his left arm, he placed his hand in a pocket of the garment the Tau'ri called a tactical vest. Everyone would assume the hand was there to stabilize his wounded shoulder. His _kara kesh_ would be ready to use in an instant.

Seconds later he walked through the Chappa'ai to his new destiny - the only true god of the entire galaxy.

MMMM

George Hammond, the commanding officer of Stargate Command, and Jack O'Neill, the second in command, sipped their steaming morning coffees as they watched Sergeant Siler check out the MALP that had returned from P4R-427, the planet SG-11 had gated to two hours ago.

"So, Jack, how are our people doing?" Hammond asked. Moments ago, when O'Neill started with the debrief of the night's event, the general had paused to come to terms with the bad news of another mission gone sideways.

Jack blew on his coffee, enjoyed watching the ripples his focused breath made. With a night like the SGC had just finished, one needed to appreciate the small things. "Last report from Fraiser uh" - he paused to check his watch - "15 minutes ago said Matheson was stabilizing but Foster was still bleeding internally. Too soon to take him into the OR. They want him 'tanked up' - her words, sir. They're the only ones in the ICU. The rest of SG-5 have multiple injuries but should recover fully. Everyone on SG-3 got injured, too, just some bruises and minor cuts. The doc will be up in a bit when things are a little more settled."

George sighed. "I think I'll go to the infirmary instead."

Jack grinned to himself. Hammond was very concerned about the two teams and he figured the man with the heart as big as the state from which he hailed wouldn't wait until Fraiser could pull herself away. He'd want to check on the injured personally as soon as possible. Not for the first time and likely not the last, he thanked his lucky Irish stars that Hammond and not West was SGC's commanding officer.

"What next, Jack?"

"Well, sir, forgive me for stating the obvious, but the natives are very hostile on that moon, General. I recommend taking that lump of worthless, miserable rock out of the dialing computer."

Hammond chortled quietly. "Consider it done, Colonel."

"SG-2 and SG-7 came in. They've been cleared by medical and debriefed. Nothing that can't wait until you get their reports, sir. I sent 'em all packing to the Land of Nod."

"I'm assuming you mean to the bunk rooms, not to the east of Eden." Hammond figured O'Neill would think the reference was to the book by Steinbeck, but not to the Bible.

O'Neill smiled, a slight knit to his brow. "Absolutely, sir."

"Is that the MALP that went with SG-11?" He flicked his head toward the tech sergeant in the 'gate room.

"Yes, sir. General, I want to raise my concern again that we don't have enough MALPs to stay off-world with the teams. There is no such animal as a low-risk mission, even on friendly planets."

Hammond nodded his head in agreement, then took a sip of coffee. "I hear you, Jack, and I've requisitioned 20 more, hoping we'll get ten. We'll just have to live with what we have."

O'Neill harrumphed. In a stage whisper, he said, "Tell that to the dead and injured teams."

At first, the general wanted to reprimand O'Neill, but thought better of it when he realized Jack's comment was aimed at the civilian bean counters in Washington, not him or the Air Force. "I know you how you feel, but we can't afford to antagonize the hand that feeds us. At least not much."

That brought a weak smile to O'Neill's lips, indicating a little lift to his mood. "Yes, sir. Good thing it's you dealing with those ... _people_."

George chuckled because he knew what O'Neill really had wanted to call them. "Careful, Colonel. You could be the one dealing with them one day." O'Neill's distasteful scowl was the only response he expected to see and he was not disappointed. "Anything else, Colonel?" he asked while Jack sipped his coffee.

"No, sir, those were the highlights as you requested. I'll have a more detailed report delivered to your email by noon."

Hammond gave his second a critical eye. Dark, puffy circles like smudge pots under eyes that were missing their customary energetic sparkle. Skin not exactly dull, but not exactly glowing. A lassitude to his entire body, as if even the involuntary movements had to be consciously directed. "Son, when was the last time you had a good night's sleep? Ah! Don't answer, because I know you'll only fudge the facts. If you don't get at least eight solid hours, preferably in a single stretch, by this time tomorrow, I'm ordering you to talk with Dr. MacKenzie. It's obvious you're not handling what happened on Hathor's planet very well." _Frankly, Jack_ , he thought, _you're coping a helluva lot better than I ever could_.

Jack peered down into his mug, but saw that damn snake, perched like a vulture eyeing its next meal, on his chest. He looked back up before it could move to the back of his neck. _Lot of good that new compartment was doing - not_. "Yes, sir," he replied, a bit of cowed reluctance in his tone. "I'll do my best."

++++

As his final act of inspection, Sergeant Siler kicked the tires and declared the MALP mechanically fit for duty. He nodded to the airman who would take it back to nearby storage for refit for its next mission. Sighing as he watched the MALP trundle its way out of the 'gate room, he pondered taking a quick break before doing some maintenance on the 'gate's iris when the room was filled with the unexpected rumble of the iris snapping shut and the 'gate shaking as its inner rings spun.

It had to be SG-11; that was the only team off-world. He checked his watch - two hours since SG-11 had left. Another four before they were due back with their recommendations on pursuing a longer mission on that planet. 

_Gotta be trouble. Maybe I'm wrong_ , he thought, ever the optimist.

An instant after the base-wide alarms sounded, Lieutenant Mills' steady voice came over the intercom. "Unscheduled off-world activation. Security teams to the 'gate room. Unscheduled off-world activation. Medical team stand by."

Siler looked up into the control room in time to see General Hammond and Colonel O'Neill standing there, both handing off their mugs to Walter. The colonel looked beat. He'd been covering the last few nights for a sick Ferretti as OOD in addition to his usual base duties. Scuttlebutt was that he was going on less than four hours of sleep a day.

A second later, he saw Mills' lips move, then Hammond's, and the iris swirled open. By now, the full complement of SFs was in the 'gate room. O'Neill wasn't visible, so he assumed he was on his way to greet whoever or whatever came through the 'gate.

Hammond keyed open the 'gate room intercom microphone and said, "SG-11 is coming in a few hours early but they aren't indicating any problem. Heads up anyway, people."

By then, Siler was behind an SF and her big gun and shield. He was tense, but that eased some when he saw Colonel O'Neill stride into the room. Siler couldn't put his finger on it, but he always felt things didn't go as wrong when the colonel was around. Or if they did, he and his team could get them out of any deep crap.

The event horizon gave its customary slurp as Captain Connor, a little unsteady on his feet, came through. The left side of his BDUs and tac vest were bloodied and that arm's hand was buried in a pocket. Before Connor could speak, O'Neill was already jogging up the ramp while Hammond asked, "Captain, are you badly injured? And where is the rest of your team?"

Connor swayed. He looked at the colonel as if he were speaking in a foreign language.

O'Neill firmly grasped Connor's right upper arm. "Easy there, big fella. What happened?"

"I'm okay, sirs. Just a shallow wound. The team is dead. Out of nowhere, this giant winged creature attacked us. I guess it was a huge bird of some sort. We all fired on it but the bullets didn't seem to faze it. It killed the team and was going to kill me. I was able to cut its throat while its claw was ..." Connor shuddered.

Siler dropped his head for a moment as the reality of another loss struck him like a hammer to his hand. He and that new lieutenant on SG-11, Pam Garza, had really hit it off when she had asked him for a quick course in off-world MALP repair.

"That's good enough for now, Captain," said Hammond. "The med team is on its way. Colonel, stay with Captain Connor until they arrive."

Siler looked up at the general again. The leader appeared noticeably deflated.

"General," said Connor, "I can make it there on my own with the colonel's help. That claw didn't get very far in."

As expected, Siler saw Hammond look to O'Neill, who, after a long moment, gave him a small nod.

"Very well, Captain. Colonel, report back to me once Connor is settled in. I want you to put together the detail to ... bring back the team." To Siler, it sounded more like a request than an order.

"Yes, sir." Siler could tell by O'Neill's tone that he would be honored to perform that thankless duty.

"Everyone else, stand down."

O'Neill said to Connor, "Let's get you patched up, Captain," as he began leading him down the ramp, his hand still gripping the junior officer's arm.

They were just getting to the door when Siler blurted out, "Colonel!"

The pair stopped and both looked over their shoulders at him. "Siler," O'Neill said as a half-question.

"Sir, I'd like to be assigned to that mission."

A few beats later, O'Neill said solemnly, "I'll keep that in mind, Sergeant."

Siler nodded his thanks. Silently he wished for more funds for more MALPs even though that wouldn't have made a difference in this ill-fated mission.

++++

Connor screamed for the colonel and Siler to hear _him_ , not the Goa'uld, until he was hoarse. Only that was impossible because he had absolutely no control over his body. The invader had imprisoned him in a tiny cell in some corner of his own mind and stripped him of all power. He was forced to hear and see everything, to experience the travesty his "life" had become.

Yet this was his new existence, his new "not-life." Trapped by some crazy-ass Goa'uld hell-bent on ruling the galaxy after taking his revenge on Colonel O'Neill and Doctor Jackson.

In his miserable, oppressed state, Connor failed to notice that the megalomania of his tormentor was seeping into his subconscious.

++++

Jack O'Neill was all too aware of his flaws; you only made it to colonel in the USAF if you knew them and made progress over the years in overcoming them. But one asset he had from the time he was a kid was his ability to sense when something - or someone - wasn't quite right, and that had kept him alive long enough to make it to colonel in special and black ops.

From the moment he looked in Connor's eyes, he knew something was off. The level of tension in the captain's arm, the way the muscles moved under the uniform and skin, like readying to strike out but holding back, simply confirmed his intuition.

Then there wasn't the flat affect or shock one would expect to see in Connor as he described the events on the planet. And not any caring at all. Could he have been wrong with his recommendations of the latest SG-11 configuration? Had Connor failed to bond with his teammates?

Maybe so; it was still a young team. There had never been any indication of discord. They trained and worked out together, took meals on base together... But they were military and it was drilled into you to watch each other's back. No, some _one_ had changed, in literally just a few hours.

Yes, something about Connor was hinky but it was all just a few vague feelings, speculation. Nothing to justify a larger escort.

Or was he was just overly cautious and exhausted from too little sleep for days and a hellaciously busy night that left all four members of SG-5 in the infirmary and all of SG-3 as walking wounded?

Before they left the 'gate room, O'Neill decided to play it safe. He'd stay with Connor throughout the exam and wound care. While the captain was getting his MRI, he'd call Hammond to ask for a team to be sent immediately to the planet to investigate - if for no other reason than to put his mind at ease so he could get some much needed, restful sleep. Thirty-plus hours of nearly constant activity and decision-making and worry took its toll, and this coming off his getting snaked, albeit temporarily. On top of this, he hadn't done more than doze since then, given that his dreams were nightmarish variations on a theme of being snaked, from the invasion to actually being a heartless Goa'uld.

In the meantime, he'd play his cards close to the vest. Delicately dig, maybe gently provoke ... whatever it took to find out what Connor was holding in this weird poker game or if this was just him letting his naturally suspicious self run wild. Besides, hadn't SG-11 been there to rescue SG-1 from Hathor and her crew of toadies?

With the adrenaline surge he felt on Connor's arrival already fading away and bone-deep fatigue creeping back up, he hoped it was nothing to lose any more crappy catnaps over.

++++

The Goa'uld didn't expect to see one of his targets so soon. It wouldn't be long before he would begin the punishment of O'Neill, to relish the fear in his eyes as the Tau'ri drew closer to his inevitable, ugly death.

Walking down the metal ramp, the Goa'uld caught a glimpse of the back of O'Neill's neck. A fresh scar of the shape, size, and location typically left by a Goa'uld to mark his prize. But he sensed no presence of a Goa'uld within him, nor a trace of one.

_How can that **be**? Why isn't he dead? What Goa'uld would leave a host without killing it?_

The human didn't answer. Then he remembered that he had blocked all of the weak creature's thoughts as a show of superiority. That would continue for now.

He could only conclude that the humans were more dangerous than he thought because no Goa'uld would ever yield to such puny creatures. Regardless, there was still much to learn from his new host.

In a relatively isolated corridor, the Goa'uld said with deference, "Colonel, there's no need for you to keep me steady. I'm feeling stronger. I can make it on my own from here."

Alarms rang in the Goa'uld's head as O'Neill scrutinized him. He loosened his control over his host a tiny bit. _He suspects something, doesn't he, human?_

A weak yet still-defiant Connor replied, _Warned you he'd see right through you._

Finally, O'Neill said evenly, "Naw, that's okay, Connor. Rather be safe than sorry."

++++

As soon as Connor had stated he could continue on his own, the final pieces of a one-color jigsaw puzzle fell into place.

Connor had seemed stunned but now O'Neill was positive it was phony. As if Connor was a second-rate actor auditioning for a part that was beyond his skills and talent.

Worse, its undertone felt uncaring. Even in the most stoic or shocked of survivors, an astute observer could spot what was beneath the surface.

Connor had said "the team," rather than "my team," _twice_. Not something any team leader or member would say under these circumstances.

With that much blood on his shirt, Connor should've been near collapsing, especially since his adrenaline level would've fallen by now. Had he really slit the big bird's throat, there should have been blood in his hair or face. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn't detect anything but even tones of hair and complexion.

Now he was confident it wasn't his imagination or exhaustion making him suspicious of what he'd surmised in the 'gate room.

Connor was definitely compromised in some way. How, he wasn't sure. He just hoped it wasn't a Goa'uld, because that meant Connor was a dead man walking.

And he'd probably have to be the one to kill him.

O'Neill knew where every camera was in this facility, where all the blind spots were. Fortunately, they weren't in one at the moment. With his right hand by his side, he began discreetly signaling for assistance and prayed someone was watching and would understand.

MMMM

Hammond added uneasiness to the grief and helplessness he was feeling after Jack agreed with Connor to walk on his own power to the infirmary.

There was something in Jack's body language and the length of time it took him to respond that set the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with unease. And the way he kept that death grip on Connor's arm.

Decision made, Hammond walked purposefully to the bank of monitors. "Sergeant, display only the feed from the cameras on the route to the infirmary at different magnifications. You and I are going to keep an eye on Colonel O'Neill and Captain Connor."

"Yes, sir."

They didn't have to wait long.

MMMM

"Is Dr. Jackson coming in today, Colonel?"

Jack wasn't about to give faux-Connor anything close to the truth. Virtually everyone knew Daniel was on leave. Only a few people knew why: meeting up with that bitch Hathor had triggered flashbacks of his rape. Daniel was meeting with a shrink off-base for talk therapy - not that it ever had done _him_ any good after his own "experiences," but he hoped it would help Daniel get back on track. "Oh, the usual places. Having fun causing trouble." He kept signaling.

It was then that the two-person med team turned the corner and continued toward them. The nurse, Lieutenant Hamilton, waved in greeting.

 _Crap! How the hell do I get 'em out of here without making Connor suspicious?_ Jack slowed the two of them down in hopes he could come up with something. Like Plan Q.

As the med team got closer, Hamilton furrowed his brow. "Colonel, did you pick up a nervous tic or something?" He nodded to Jack's right hand.

++++

What was Jack trying to communicate? His right hand was in a fist but every couple seconds, he'd extend his index finger for a couple more seconds.

Hammond racked his brain trying to find the answer. As soon as he saw the med team come into view, he had it - O'Neill was requiring assistance. Immediately, he reached for the nearest intercom, which served the entire base. "Security team, corridor R-28 B immediately. Consider Captain Connor dangerous. I repeat, corridor R-28 B."

"General!"

At the tech sergeant's shout, Hammond faced the monitors again. His face paled; his knees felt like partially liquefied gelatin: what was happening in that hallway was his fault, even though there was no choice but to send out the alarm throughout the entire command. "Lieutenant, put us on lockdown _now_ ," he said as calmly and urgently as he could so as not to betray his panic.

++++

Having just returned from a brief trip to the supermarket near Cheyenne Mountain for a large supply of Jaffa cakes, his latest culinary passion, Teal'c stepped out of the elevator on his home floor in time to hear Hammond's pronouncement that Captain Connor was dangerous.

Immediately he dropped his bag of boxed treats and headed for the armory at a rapid clip. He assumed that Connor was on the way to the infirmary; the most likely reason a team would only come back early was if there had there were injuries. He also knew that Connor, who had on occasion confided in Teal'c, harbored deep feelings for Dr. Fraiser. And if he were dangerous, Teal'c would do what he must to protect the physician and his friend.

++++

 _Damn! When it rains, it pours_ , Janet Fraiser thought. "Lana," she said to the nurse caring for the two members of SG-5 in the ICU, "looks like Matheson is tuned up. But hang another unit of packed cells on Foster. Let's hope whatever this emergency is, the census in here stays at two."

Being her usual "hope for the best, prepare for the worst" self, she assumed there would be casualties. She hurriedly left the room, mentally deciding what to take and who to take with her to that hallway. 

++++

As soon as Hammond said "Security team," the Goa'uld withdrew his hand from the vest and triggered the _kara kesh_. He blasted O'Neill, currently the biggest threat, with it first. He grinned with pleasure as O'Neill bounced off the wall and landed at his feet, where he belonged. Within the next second, he directed the device to batter the other two humans, who just stood there, mouths open, too stunned to react, back down the corridor. He smiled when he heard bones crack.

He turned his attention back to the Tau'ri at his feet. He laughed as he watched the graying head wobble on its stalk and at the futile efforts to stand. "You are no match for me, Tau'ri. I am your god. I am Phobos!" Kicking him in the chest, he was pleased to feel something give.

++++

Jack cursed silently as his legs - in fact, nearly his whole body - refused to follow any commands. He couldn't blame it because all of it hurt like hell. He grunted as Connor's steel-toed combat boot somehow found the exact spot where his ribs had been broken before. The world around him blinked in and out of focus.

But there was one thing of his that always seemed to work. His words would sound strained, but talking would distract the snakehead until the SFs arrived to save his ass.

"Uh, last time ... checked ... not on _my_ ... god list."

Jack cringed involuntarily when Connor's eyes glowed whitish-yellow and the snaked man screamed in anger. Then Phobos grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up effortlessly until only Jack's tiptoes touched the floor. He tried to pry the iron fingers from his neck but had to stop as the lack of oxygen and the escalating pain drained what little energy he had. The edges of his vision started going black.

"You are impudent and I should kill you now, but I have other plans for you first, Tau'ri," Phobos whispered menacingly.

"Tha's ... wha' ... all dead ... Gould said." With that, O'Neill ran out of air. The blackness, like the iris, spiraled further toward his central vision.

"Not yet, human."

Jack, now one tiny step from unconsciousness, felt a shift in the Goa'uld's hold on his throat, and his airway opened up enough for him to suck in small amounts of air. His body, especially his chest, ached worse when he coughed hoarsely after each wheezy gulp. The blackness changed to exploding dots and stars on a dull charcoal gray background.

Suddenly, he felt his body swing a 180 so fast that it made him even more dizzy and nauseated. 

"If you shoot, you will kill O'Neill," said Phobos with a taunting sneer in his tone. "I think you will not kill someone so much admired, though I do not understand why that is so."

Jack could only guess the Goa'uld was talking to a security team. He hadn't even heard them join the little party in the hallway. He clasped his hands around Connor's - _nope, he's a Goa'uld for now_ \- forearms and pushed up slightly in hopes of relieving some of the pressure on his neck. The maneuver succeeded, but in only infuriating the Goa'uld. He grimaced when Phobos, roaring in frustration, shook him like a rag doll.

++++

As he neared Connor's location, Teal'c heard gunshots and muffled thuds. He picked up his already fast pace. 

++++

Phobos deployed the ribbon device, its pressure wave felling the entire security team. Several fingers contracted on triggers and bullets went flying. All but one missed the pair. That one deeply grazed O'Neill's inner mid-thigh before lodging itself in Phobos' thigh.

"Gah!" uttered Jack in surprised pain. That became the least of his worries when Phobos turned the hand device's stream on him.

This was different. It wasn't the energy or whatever applied to kill. This was not his brain getting deep-fried but scrambled. The energy that tasted like malevolence churned up unspeakable pain, confusion, and warped, amplified senses. For him, the universe shrunk to nothing but agony and searing, enveloping light. He felt thunder strike the center of his brain with acid ice picks, smelled white terror, heard bile rise in his eyes.

A single thought popped into his muddled consciousness: _I'm melting_.

++++

The Jaffa picked his way over the jumble of breathing bodies that was the security team. He unholstered the nearest zat'ni'katel. Once past them, Teal'c instantly took in the scene before him. Rage coursed through him when he saw O'Neill's body: tense from the yellow and blue energy ribbons meant for torture and disorientation coming from the _kara kesh_ and dark fluid that was surely blood running down his pants leg.

And if he fired, he would surely hit his friend.

He knew O'Neill would understand; indeed, O'Neill would not hesitate to shoot if their situations were reversed. He opened the zat, aiming it at the two people.

++++

Hearing the zat'ni'katel being readied for use reminded Phobos that he had not activated the _kara kesh_ 's shield. Either he would have to release O'Neill just before the _shol'va_ fired so the Tau'ri would take the full charge or release him now so he could activate the shield to protect himself from that weapon's energy and more bullets.

He chose the latter. He sent O'Neill crashing into the _shol'va_ and within that same second, actuated the _kara kesh_ 's shield.

++++

Jack wondered if the snakehead was a galaxy-class pitcher, because hurling him into Teal'c, whose muscles were tense and ready for action, felt like he'd hit a home plate backstop made of reinforced concrete at more than 100 miles per hour.

With what little wind he had left knocked out of him, Jack heard what he thought was probably Teal'c's head connect with something hard, producing a loud report that sounded like a shot. If Teal'c was injured, Jack prayed that it was one Junior could take care of quickly because he was in no shape to take on a Goa'uld, even with help.

++++

Fraiser's face flamed red when she saw Lt. Hamilton and Airman Winters, both breathing but unconscious in a pile of limbs amidst scattered medical supplies. Winters was bleeding from a gash on his forehead. The positioning of Hamilton's left arm led her to diagnose a probable shoulder dislocation.

"Janet Fraiser."

Her skin crawled at the sound of her name being pronounced seductively in a Goa'uld's voice. Despite the dread that bloomed in her gut, the compelling voice tore her away from any care of her colleagues.

 _Dear lord, it's Connor_. Disbelief, joined quickly by dismay, stopped her breathing and started her quivering.

"You will join with me as my queen, and together, we will rule the galaxy."

She wanted to puke. Connor had been throwing out subtle hints for several months to see if she was interested in dating him. She had been considering it, but now he was a Goa'uld. And that thing had already tapped into Connor's feelings for her.

She finally took a breath, letting it fill her with bravado that she knew would largely be false. Whatever had filled her worked; she no longer shook like a leaf. "I don't think so, buster, snowball's chance in hell and all."

The Goa'uld laughed. It sounded creepily like a demented Connor. "I _will_ have you. _Now_."

Fraiser squealed silently as an amber-colored stream of energy coming from the hand device swarmed around her head. She took one tentative step closer to the Goa'uld. Then another. And another. She finally realized she had lost power over her own fate, that he was making her go to him. She began fighting it, along with the fear that came with the realization. However, it slowed her progress minimally and gave her a splitting headache.

The Goa'uld laughed again, more maniacally than before. "I am your god. I am the _galaxy's_ god. All will learn that resistance is futile." He stroked her jaw before letting his hand fall to her breast.

She, tears now forming two waterfalls down her face, moved closer to what she was sure would be the worst experience of her life.

++++

Hammond was nearly jumping out of his skin as he watched Fraiser step closer to the Goa'uld. "Sergeant!" he said just shy of a yell. "Find out what is taking those reinforcements so damn long!"

++++

Teal'c was definitely out for the count and only one of the bowled-over SFs was stirring but without coordination, much less vigor. Not hearing any other rescuers over his noisy breathing, he knew it was up to him.

Watching Janet walk haltingly toward the Goa'uld sparked a second wind in him. The pain eased, his vision sharpened, and the fog in his brain dissipated. He held his breath so he wouldn't make a sound and reached for Teal'c's right boot.

He closed his eyes in thanks when he laid his hand on the perfect weapon: Teal'c's combat knife. The Jaffa never went into the dangerous world of the Tau'ri without it. He withdrew it from its sheath; no tell-tale sound gave away the action.

The knife was perfectly balanced. Breaching a Goa'uld shield and accurately hitting its target should be a piece of cake. He slid off Teal'c's body to come to his knees. In less than a second, he repositioned the knife in his hand and hatched a plan that just might save Connor. Or allow a Goa'uld to take over the SGC.

He threw the knife, careful to properly follow through and gasping as the entire act reminded him of his injuries.

He smirked when the Goa'uld bellowed in pain and surprise. The knife's hilt in his right buttock quivered like a fawn's tail.

Powered by adrenaline and the success of the first part of his plan, he sprang to his feet and closed the distance between him and the snakehead.

++++

Fraiser inhaled sharply as the Goa'uld squeezed her breast but at the same time, she noticed the effects of the hand device were rapidly diminishing. Though dazed, she recognized the opportunity that had arisen. She did what any red-blooded, take-no-prisoners female Texan would do.

She took a wobbly step back, and taking careful aim, kicked the snaked Connor's crotch as hard as she could. She grinned when she recalled she had changed into combat boots after her dress shoes got bloodied a couple hours ago.

Next thing she knew, she was on her kiester.

++++

Connor had the briefest of moments to appreciate the fact that Phobos was feeling the pain in his butt and groin before the asshole shunted the agony to him. He struggled to stay as aware as he could through the blinding pain. He needed to think straight should the snakehead start asking questions again.

++++

O'Neill reached the Goa'uld a millisecond after Doc Fraiser played a little soccer with a couple of balls. Phobos had bent over but was now straightening back up. Quickly, he yanked the knife out of Connor's cheek and immediately placed the tip between two cervical vertebrae. With his other hand, he encased Connor's left forearm in an iron grip.

In his coldest, most promising voice, Jack said quietly, "You have two choices, Phoebe. You can back out now without leaving any of your poison behind and maybe I'll let you live, or I can kill you both right now."

"You would not _dare_!"

"Go ahead and ask Connor," Jack continued as he pressed the blade in far enough to start a steady flow of blood.

++++

_Human! Is what O'Neill says the truth? He would end your life to end mine?"_

Connor searched his pained mind for something that would convince his captor to believe O'Neill would do exactly what he said. Quickly, he found it. Not sure how he did it, but in his mind he played the tape of Kawalsky's death he had seen during his training. He could hear - as could Phobos - the colonel's unmistakable voice shouting, "Teal'c! Hold him there!" A breath later came, "Shut it down! Now!"

Connor screamed as the Goa'uld sent him waves and waves of pain.

++++

For the first time in his long existence, the Goa'uld who fed on the fear of others felt it for the first time. It soured his entire being.

"So, what's your answer, snakeboy? There is a time limit on this offer of possible life. Otherwise, it's guaranteed death." He felt the knife edge deeper into the host's neck - and closer to him. 

"Tick-tock, Phoebs."

Phobos stared down at the physician who had scuttled away from him. His desire for her and for ruling the galaxy, were great. But he couldn't have either if he were dead.

Yes. He would take another host and continue to pursue all that was rightfully his. The humans could never win in the long run. His fate was to rule and theirs was to be ruled, to be utterly subjugated. And O'Neill's fate to be dead.

"I will leave without killing the human you call Connor. And you will not kill me."

"There's a couple of conditions. Take that hand thing off now. Then before you leave, you heal him. All of him. And don't forget the neck." A millisecond later, the knife was at Connor's throat. "Don't try anything funny, snakeboy. Okay, giddy-up."

For the last time, Phobos questioned his host.

 _It means get the hell out of me_ came the answer.

Surmising that any sudden move would be fatal for him, the Goa'uld slowly removed his _kara kesh_ from his left hand, the vise-like grip on his forearm tightening further. He despised the feelings of impotence and vulnerability such an action gave him.

"The healing has already begun, _human_ ," the Goa'uld said, infusing the last word with contempt and loathing. "It will take a short time to complete and then I will leave and you will let me live."

Phobos was thoroughly disgusted with the fact that his very existence depended on such an impudent, frail creature. But he had something to look forward to once he was out of this specimen. He would spray O'Neill with the poison, killing him instead. And because he wasn't sure the host hadn't sensed his plan, he stilled its vocal cords that could shout a warning.

A few minutes later, the damage was repaired. "It is done. Step away, O'Neill, so I may leave this human."

++++

While Phobos was healing Connor, Teal'c experienced his own healing. He blinked several times on returning to consciousness, then quickly assessed the situation.

O'Neill's body hid the left side of Captain Connor. He held something at the fellow officer's neck. Likely a weapon he surmised. He couldn't see the colonel's left hand but knew it was controlling the Goa'ulded officer in some way. Regardless of what O'Neill was doing, he would be ready to act.

Moving silently, he retrieved the zak'ni'katel he'd lost and carefully aimed it at his friend's back. He didn't waver when he heard the spent bullet that had been lodged in Connor's leg hit the floor.

 _I am sure this is one of those times that the meaning of having your back is not the intended one, O'Neill_.

++++

"No way, Phoebe." In a blink, the knife was back at Connor's neck. "You try anything and I'll cut off whatever is showing and stick whatever's left in my soldier."

Fraiser shivered at the glacier-cold promise in her friend's voice and at the steely determination in his face. She wondered how she could love and respect someone like him, someone who could kill without hesitation, but she did, now even more.

He could kill both Connor and the Goa'uld and no one could possibly object to his decision. Instead, he was taking a risk to protect the innocent - Connor - in hopes that he'd be saved. It was a calculated risk, of course, but one she thought he might win. If things went south, she was positive he wouldn't hesitate to do what had to be done.

She loved and respected him more for giving Connor a chance to survive.

She prayed he wasn't wrong.

++++

A grimacing O'Neill swallowed back bile that rose to his throat as the snake backed out.

The tail wiggled vigorously. It reminded him of an angry, desperate fish on the business end of a pole.

In a few seconds, enough of the snake was out that O'Neill could grasp it firmly in his hand. Once again fighting the urge to vomit, he released Connor's left arm and grabbed, hard, the squirming Goa'uld. The snake felt like leather unevenly oiled with slime, and stank like wet feathers.

He stopped himself from pulling it the rest of the way out, afraid that doing so would harm or kill Connor.

And he prayed Connor no longer had the strength that came with being snaked.

 _Why the hell do I gamble like this_ , he thought in the one part of his brain not focused on what was unfolding. _If I live through this, Hammond is so gonna court-martial me for being stupid_.

++++

Teal'c did not acknowledge the SFs rising back to consciousness. He hoped they would evaluate the situation and realize that he and O'Neill had it under tenuous control. Too many discharges from zat'ni'katels would end in disaster for more than the Goa'uld.

He willed the Goa'uld to leave Captain Connor's body faster, even though it was fruitless to do so.

++++

Jack recoiled then stumbled when the snake changed its exit rhythm and forcefully ejected the last bit of itself out of Connor's nervous system. With the leg injury, it was enough to send him falling. Faintly, he heard a feminine voice yell, "Colonel!"

Before he hit the floor, he sank the knife into the snake's body and twisted a millisecond before a zat charge engulfed him in familiar, torturous agony.

He hit the floor with a dull thud but only momentarily felt that pain before unconsciousness saved him from more.

++++

Teal'c was on his feet and striding toward the downed pair before the electric arcs ceased.

Despite the knife - his knife, he recognized - in its body, the parasite still twitched. Calmly, the zat'ni'katel never wavering from its ultimate target, he took the knife from O'Neill's hand then tossed it and its involuntary passenger to the floor between him and the SFs, now standing and ready to use their weapons.

"Remove O'Neill to a safe distance now."

Two SFs instantly lowered their weapons at the unequivocal command. Gently, they moved him closer to Fraiser and two nurses who had just joined her at the kneeling Connor.

When Teal'c heard Captain Connor whisper hoarsely, "How's O'Neill? Okay?" he smiled to himself, pleased that the captain was both alive and more concerned about the man who saved him than himself. His respect for the man grew. He watched impassively as the staked Goa'uld writhed on the floor purposefully in an attempt to pull away from its inevitable fate.

Once he confirmed that O'Neill and everyone else were far enough away, Teal'c triggered the zat'ni'katel twice in rapid succession.

The only thing remaining was a short, thin trail of blood.

He handed the borrowed weapon to an SF and made for his friend. Kneeling beside him, on the side opposite Doctor Fraiser who was tending him, Teal'c wiped the sweat from O'Neill's forehead. "Will he be all right, Doctor?"

"I think so, Teal'c. Won't know for sure until all the tests I'll run come back, but he seems stable."

Teal'c nodded. "Thank you, DoctorFraiser."

Next he turned his attention to Connor and the three SFs pointing a variety of weapons at him. "You may stand down, as I do not sense the presence of a Goa'uld."

When the SFs hesitated, Teal'c said in harsh command tones, "Do as I say."

++++

 _I am getting too old for this_ , thought Hammond as he watched O'Neill stab the Goa'uld and in the same second flop around on the floor while trails of blue energy danced around him. He toggled the microphone but discovered he couldn't speak; his throat was as full and tight as a tick on a hunting dog.

He lifted his finger off the switch as he watched, with a great deal of satisfaction and relief, Teal'c dispatch the Goa'uld permanently. After swallowing a few times and coughing - and ignoring the sideways looks the lieutenant and the sergeant were giving him - he said into the live microphone, "Do what the man says, people. Teal'c is a source of authority on these matters."

Slowly, the SFs lowered their weapons. Hammond had to admit he understood their reluctance, but he, like Jack O'Neill and because of Jack O'Neill, had complete confidence in the freedom-seeking Jaffa.

Before he could say more, the corridor swarmed with people from Medical and several other departments. He beamed with pride at everyone pitching in, at Fraiser triaging effortlessly and efficiently, at Teal'c not allowing anyone but himself to gently move O'Neill to a stretcher.

He felt fortunate to have as his probable last command this group of extraordinary people.

And any thought of leaving for any reason went up in proverbial smoke like Phobos had.

MMMM

O'Neill grunted softly in pain as he sat up and swung his legs off the bed, even as one hand braced his injured and taped ribs. If he hadn't insisted Teal'c leave to properly meditate, he was certain the big guy would've chastised him vigorously and forced him to lay back down.

It's worth it, he said to himself. He was determined to pee standing up, no matter how much it hurt getting there. Peeing in the locked and upright position meant he was better and ready to leave this land of huge honkin' needles and too-bright lights.

He took a few short breaths and ignored a bead of sweat that ran down his nose as he struggled to put the necessary amount of weight on his wounded leg. Fortunately, he wasn't pigheaded enough not to use the bed rail. Also fortunate, he was in a private room, what with the infirmary full of people injured by that maniac Phoebe, so no one could see him faltering and report it to the infirmary equivalent of SS troops.

He was reaching for the urinal when there was a knock on the door. Rolling his eyes at the bad timing, he said hoarsely, "Enter and make it snappy" in such a way that even the most emotionally clueless person would know he was perturbed. He faced the door, hands on hips in part to keep from dancing around due to his rather urgent bladder matter.

Connor's disembodied head popped into view. "Sorry to disturb you, Colonel, but I was hoping to talk with you for a few minutes."

How could he turn Connor down? The man had been shot, poked and sliced, albeit mildly considering the circumstances, with a knife, and, much worse than any physical injury, taken as a Goa'uld host. The man probably wanted to talk with someone who also had been an unwilling member of the extremely small and exclusive club of Earthlings who had survived being snaked. He softened his command face and waved Connor into the room. "Sure, Captain. But I may not last too long." He eyed the urinal for Connor's benefit.

Connor smiled weakly as he entered the room. He turned toward the door to close it. When he turned back, O'Neill instantly saw the bat-shit-crazy look in the captain's eyes. He'd seen it before, when the Goa'uld had ruled the man's mind and body.

Before Jack could reach the call button, Connor was on him, hand once more around his throat. The other hand applied hard pressure to the taped ribs.

O'Neill could cope with the torture happening to his chest but there was no coping with lack of air. He clawed at the fingers crushing his multi-colored neck. His shoeless state prevented him from kicking Connor in the shin; he'd hurt himself more than he would this man all jacked up on rage and adrenaline. He was too close to Connor to use the flat of his foot on either knee. Unconsciousness and maybe death loomed in his immediate future if he didn't do something.

"I should be the head of SG-1, O'Neill. Though you kill Goa'uld as part of your plan to rule the galaxy, you are not capable of actually doing so. But I am. SG-1 and then the world and finally the galaxy will be mine!"

_Jesus H Christ! Phoebe got to him!_

Spurred by that realization and swiftly approaching oblivion, O'Neill gathered every ounce of strength he had into crashing his fist into the elbow of the arm whose fingers spelled his doom.

Connor howled but his grip didn't loosen at all.

However, O'Neill was now close enough to use his other hand. Putting that hand into a knife configuration, he struck the side of Connor's thick neck as hard as he could. It was hard enough to cause Connor to teeter and completely lose his hold on O'Neill.

Jack hit the floor, wheezing and coughing as he tried to catch just one decent breath. "Aw, crap," he muttered when Connor bent over, right hand reaching either for his throat again or, he hoped, the skimpy shirt he was wearing.

His will to survive took over despite the difficulty in breathing and keeping things in focus. He aimed his bare foot at Connor's groin and the man groaned. Clutched his crotch. Rolled his eyes upward. Sank to his knees.

A bewildered Jack - _How'd I do that? Without even **touching** him?_ \- rolled to one side to avoid Connor landing on him.

And in the same instant, he had his answer. He grinned at his savior: a 5-foot-2 shaking spitfire with a wicked kick.

"Thanks, Doc," he croaked out through freshly battered vocal cords.

Fraiser looked pleased with herself but also chagrined. "It worked once. No reason it shouldn't work a second time," she said meekly as she scrambled for the call button. She turned on the oxygen and attached fresh nasal cannula. She knelt by O'Neill before she placed the tubing in his nose and around his ears. "Don't try to speak. Just nod or shake your head. Breathing okay?"

Without enthusiasm, he nodded slightly and winced at the pain it caused.

"Not a good idea," she said with an apologetic smile. She looked over at the still groaning captain and sighed ruefully. "Guess he'll never ask me out now."

O'Neill, knowing he'd regret it, burst out laughing anyway.

the end  
© 2017

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to CoriKay for the spectacular beta.


End file.
